


in the palm of your hand

by thisissirius



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dog Tags, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: The box is small, reminds Buck of jewellery cases, but it’s leather. He runs his fingers over the top and flips the lid, hands shaking when he looks inside. Eddie’s dog tags are laying on soft velvet, and Buck’s chest seizes, his eyes burning. “No.”
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 589
Collections: 9-1-1 ▶ Edmundo "Eddie" Diaz / Evan "Buck" Buckley





	in the palm of your hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elisela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/gifts).



> eli has been waiting for this for literal WEEKS. i am sorry it took so long <3

Buck’s in the middle of figuring out Chris’ homework for the next day when Eddie joins him at the table. Buck’s been working on the problems for about a half hour while Chris is in the living room, watching cartoons on TV before dinner. Mrs. Higgins gave him the problems to work through with Chris and he’s confident he can help—even with Eddie’s soft teasing. 

“Hey, I have something for you,” Eddie says. 

Buck raises his head, confused. “It’s not my birthday till next week.”

Eddie shrugs. He’s blushing, a little pink on his cheekbones, and Buck can’t help smiling. A nervous Eddie is always such a surprise—and beautiful. “It’s not—it’s not a birthday present. I just wanted to give you something. Because I can’t, marriage is, we’ll—”

“It’s okay,” Buck says, leaning over to touch Eddie’s neck. “If you can’t tell me now, tell me later.”

“I want you to have something.” Eddie puts the box on the table, slides it over the mess Buck’s made with math problems and squared paper. 

The box is small, reminds Buck of jewellery cases, but it’s leather. He runs his fingers over the top and flips the lid, hands shaking when he looks inside. Eddie’s dog tags are laying on soft velvet, and Buck’s chest seizes, his eyes burning. “No.”

There’s a horrible silence, and then Eddie reaches out, snatches the box from Buck. 

“Okay.” Eddie’s expression is going to be seared into Buck’s memory. Weak smile, wet eyes, that familiar lip bite that means he’s fighting back tears. “I’m just gonna put it back in the bedroom.”

Buck watches him go, wants to stop him, but he can’t make his voice work. He’s spent months promising himself he’ll never be responsible for making Eddie sad, not if he can help it, and now he’s done it. Because he can’t handle what those dog tags mean—what Eddie’s asking of him. 

Dinner is a quiet affair; they keep up small talk and jokes for Christopher’s sake, but even he can tell something’s wrong. When Eddie takes the dishes to wash up, Chris heads for the bathroom. There’s a weight to Buck’s chest that he can’t shake, and as he perches on the edge of the couch, rubbing his hands over his face, he wonders if he should just leave. 

“Bucky, can I speak to you?”

Buck looks up, surprised, to see Chris hovering next to the couch. “Of course, buddy. What’s up?”

Chris sets next to him on the couch, giving Buck a soft look. “Daddy’s sad.”

Wincing, Buck sighs. “I know. I think I made him sad.”

Chris pats his knee. “Dad’s not good with things, Bucky. He doesn’t like talking like you, and me.”

Buck snorts gently. “I know. Did he tell you something?”

Chris doesn’t answer for a moment and Buck fights the momentary panic that Eddie _has_. It’s not like Eddie; he doesn’t bring Chris into their fights, doesn’t hold Chris over Buck’s head or force him to choose. Eddie finds it difficult enough talking about his emotions at the best of times, less so when he’s sad. 

“He asked me something,” Chris says. “Showed me what he wanted to give you.”

Buck rubs at his face. When he wraps an arm around Christopher’s shoulder, Chris leans in. “I didn’t mean to make him sad.”

Chris hums. “You didn’t like the dog tags?”

“I,” Buck starts. “I thought they were a bad thing. Maybe I got it wrong, and they mean something different to your dad?”

Chris nods. He doesn’t look angry and Buck’s so grateful he’s a good kid, that Eddie—and Shannon—have done so well with raising him. “Dad gave me one. They’re supposed to keep us safe. To remind us Daddy loves us when he can’t be with us all the time.”

Buck feels sick. He’s such an idiot. Eddie’s face when he’d said no; he must think Buck doesn’t— “I’m sorry. I’ll speak to your dad, I promise.”

“Good,” Christopher says. “He doesn’t like fighting with you. Or being sad.”

“I don’t like that either,” Buck says, kissing the top of Christopher’s head. 

Eddie’s an idiot.

Of course Buck doesn’t want the dog tag. Why would he? They’re happy and Eddie’s gotta ruin it with too much emotion. Is this what Shannon felt like? Throwing so many feelings at him that he couldn’t reciprocate and when he finally does, he goes too hard too soon and everything falls apart.

Eddie bangs the plates a little too hard when he puts them on the drainer and bites back an outward curse. He can hear Buck and Christopher talking in the living room, the TV going on. It’s not their usual movie night, but Eddie figures maybe Buck’s finding something to do that means he doesn’t have to talk. What if he goes home? Eddie breathes out slowly, feels the burn in his eyes as he rubs vigorously at the pans.

As a widower, a single father, he’s got next to nothing going for him. Buck’s—he’s gorgeous and kind-hearted and the best person Eddie knows. He can have anyone he wants. Why would he go for Eddie?

Buck’s the one that keeps saying marriage is for later. Maybe he means never and he just doesn’t want Eddie to get upset. Either way, Eddie’s an idiot and he doesn’t know how to salvage their relationship, or even a friendship between them. He desperately needs Buck in his life, no matter how much he loves him, and can’t handle being the reason Buck leaves. Chris will never forgive him. 

Eddie’s gonna have to apologise and take whatever comes, however much it hurts.

“Christopher’s watching a movie,” Buck says, watching Eddie wipe down the counters. He’s got his back to Buck, shoulders tight as he moves, but Buck knows him well. He can see the tremor in Eddie’s hand, the line of his jaw that means he’s clenching his teeth, the redness to Eddie’s eyes. If he’s not outright crying, he’s been trying not to. That hurts, and Buck takes a step forward, another. “Can we talk?”

Eddie doesn’t talk, just nods, throwing the dish towel in the laundry and heading down the hall. 

Buck hates the silence. It settles over him like an oppressive blanket and he tries to shake it as they walk into the bedroom. Just that morning they woke up together, Eddie pressed against his front, Buck’s hand tight on Eddie’s stomach. Buck thinks of that as he closes the door, focuses on Eddie’s awkward hovering by the window. He’s still not looking Buck in the eye. 

“Look at me?”

“Just—,” Eddie starts. 

Moving around the bottom of the bed, Buck stands a few feet away from Eddie, giving him space, but not letting him run. “Eddie. Please?”

Eddie raises his head, eyes narrowed, but he can’t hide his sadness fast enough. “I’m sorry.”

Buck’s surprised. “ _You’re_ sorry?”

“I know I go too fast,” Eddie says quickly, taking an aborted step forward. His hands clench by his sides, and though he’s holding Buck’s gaze, his eyes are darting from Buck’s face to his shoulder and then back up. “I shouldn’t have—I just wanted you to know because I can’t say it but I want it and—” 

“Slow down,” Buck says gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. After a small hesitation, and at Buck’s prompting, Eddie sits next to him. “What do the dog tags mean to you?” 

Eddie snorts. “You know what they mean.”

“Humour me.”

Resting his hands on his knees, Eddie stares down at them, shoulders shrugging slightly. “I heard you talking to Maddie a couple of nights ago on the phone. You were saying that nobody—that you weren’t marriage material because nobody’s ever going to want that with you.” A small pause. “I can’t—”

“Eddie,” Buck says gently, reaching over to take Eddie’s hand. 

Eddie swallows; Buck watches his throat bob, and then he turns, looking Buck in the eye. “I don’t know how to ask.”

“So you gave me the dog tags,” Buck says slowly. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t wanna ruin it,” Eddie says. “We can pretend I never—”

“See for me,” Buck says, talking over Eddie, and squeezing his hand gently, “they mean something else.”

Eddie shuts his mouth, staring. 

“Dog tags are always—they’re the thing someone gives you when they want you to remember them. When they know they’re going away and they want to leave a piece of themselves behind.” Buck watches Eddie’s face closely, and can see when the realization hits. “Eddie, we have a dangerous job—you’re former military. You have to know that’s what they mean.”

“Probably,” Eddie allows. There’s a pink dusting on his cheeks and he tightens his grip on Buck’s hand. After another pause, he looks back up at Buck. “I want forever with you, Buck. I didn’t think I was the kind of guy you’d want.”

Buck frowns. “Eddie, I love you. I’m never leaving, not if I can help it.”

“I’m,” Eddie starts, cuts himself off. Buck waits him out, and eventually, he shifts a little closer. Buck pulls his hand away, wraps it around Eddie’s shoulders and kisses his hairline. It softens Eddie a little; Eddie curls into him, breathes out slowly. “You could have anyone you want.”

“I’ve chosen you,” Buck says, tone hard. He wants to be respectful of Eddie’s feelings, but he won’t have Eddie thinking he’s somehow not _enough_. With another kiss to Eddie’s temple, Buck rests two fingers under Eddie’s chin, waits until Eddie’s looking at him. “We’re gonna have to talk about this,” he says gently. “About you not thinking you deserve me, or love, or any of this.”

Eddie shakes his head. 

“Eddie,” Buck says quietly. “I will marry you in a heartbeat. I need you to hear that and believe it, but right now I don’t think you do.”

“I,” Eddie starts, then stares out of the window. “No,” he says eventually. His voice is small, and Buck sighs, burying his nose in Eddie’s hair. Eddie clutches at him a little tightly, voice shaking. “I want to, Buck. I don’t know why—” 

Buck shifts them, drags Eddie down with him onto the bed. They don’t have long; Chris isn’t going to be bribed with ice cream for much longer, but Buck needs this, needs _Eddie_ to have this, and he rests a hand on the back of Eddie’s head. Eddie’s cheek is against his shoulder, small puffs of breath against Buck’s neck, and Buck closes his eyes. 

“There are ways,” Buck promises, “to stop feeling like this. Some you don’t like—Frank,” he adds, feels Eddie tense, “but there are others. It’ll be hard, therapy always is, but I want you to see your worth, Eddie.”

Eddie pauses. “I suppose you’re in therapy?”

“Yeah.” Buck ignores the tone, rubs his hand up into Eddie’s hair, scratches lightly, then strokes back down his neck. The tension bleeds out of Eddie with every pass. Whatever anger he’s got stored up is dispersing. “After everything—” The truck, the tsunami, the lawsuit; Buck needs to get his head on straight and even if the first time was a disaster, this time is easier. He wants it, needs it to be the best person he can be for Eddie. “I needed it.”

Shifting against him, Eddie turns so that he can look Buck in the eye, head tipped back against Buck’s hand. “I don’t want to talk to someone face to face.”

“Alright,” Buck says. “Whatever you want, Eddie.”

“I don’t want it at all,” Eddie says, burying his face back against Buck’s chest. “But I want to be a better person.”

“It’s not about being better,” Buck says softly. “I just want you to be happy, Eddie.”

They lay in silence for a moment. 

“Dad! Bucky! Ice cream!”

Buck snorts, brushing a kiss in Eddie’s hair, while he starts to roll away. 

Eddie stops him, a hand on Buck’s chest. His eyes are bright but he nods, like he’s come to a decision. “I want to be happy too. For you. And for me.”

“Good,” Buck says, hand on Eddie’s cheek. He pulls him in for a kiss, a soft touch of their lips that Eddie doesn’t try and deepen. He kisses Buck’s lips, his cheek, his temple. “Eddie?”

“I love you,” Eddie says, finally shifting onto his knees. Buck rises to meet him, lets Eddie pull him into another kiss. “We can do this, right?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, without question. “Kids, marriage, the whole fucking lot, Eddie.”

Eddie laughs, more carefree than he’s been all night. 

“Dad! Buck!”

“Alright, Chris!” Buck yells, laughing against Eddie’s shoulder. “Come on, Diaz, before your son steals all the ice cream in retaliation.”

Later, when Chris is sacked out against a sleeping Buck’s shoulder, ice cream tubs on the coffee table in front of them, Eddie leans over, runs his fingers through Buck’s hair. His chest is tight and he doesn’t know if therapy is actually going to help, but he’ll offer Buck anything if he can give it. 

Maybe it’ll help. 

There’s a lot of shit going on in Eddie’s head, and he doesn’t like that his first reaction was hating himself. He’s tired of not feeling like he’s enough for someone to stay. He wants to be worthy of Buck’s love, his attention. He wants to be everything Buck needs him to be. 

“Hey,” Buck says. 

“Hi.” Eddie smiles, leans in to kiss Buck softly. He’ll never get tired of kissing Buck, of the fingers Buck always strokes along his cheek, the back of his neck. 

Buck is careful of Chris as he sits up a little, threading his fingers with Eddie’s. “You owe me something.”

Eddie frowns. “What are you talking about.”

“I want the dog tag,” Buck says quietly. 

Eddie doesn’t know what to say. He never wants to get the dog tag out again. He doesn’t know why—

Buck squeezes his hand. “Eddie?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, because he’s helpless to say anything else. 

Buck lifts their joined hands, brushes a kiss against Eddie’s knuckles. “When we’re both ready, you’ll exchange it. For a ring.”

Eddie snorts, unable to quell the rise of amusement. “I will, huh?”

“Yep,” Buck says, with a huge grin. “I’m worth a big wedding, right, Diaz?”

That’s an easy one, and he leans in, kisses the tip of Buck’s nose. Buck goes soft, eyes warm and smile small, but no less brilliant. “You’re worth everything.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i am on [tumblr](http://thisissirius.tumblr.com)!


End file.
